Where Once the Sun Shone
by wbss21
Summary: Sometimes, Frigga thinks, as she stands there, watching her youngest child, sitting there listless, staring with unseeing eyes ahead at nothing, she hardly recognizes him as her son.


**Where Once the Sun Shown**

Sometimes, Frigga thinks, as she stands there, watching her youngest child, sitting there listless, staring with unseeing eyes ahead at nothing, she hardly recognizes him as her son.

Can hardly believe that this is him... that this is how he's ended up.

Her brilliant, bright boy. Her gentle and shy son.

Some days, the Queen can hardly accept that this is reality.

It is his tenth month now, imprisoned within these walls.

Ten months since Thor brought him home in chains, his mouth gagged and wrists bound, his eyes wild and bright with madness, skin battered and bruised, clothes torn to shreds from how he'd been in battle against his brother and his mortal companions.

Loki had been in battle _against_ his brother. Loki had attempted to subjugate an entire realm...

Frigga can scarce reconcile it. Even still.

When Loki had been a child, he had been the most loving and sweet boy, quiet and uncertain of himself, but ferociously intelligent, and hungry for, above all things, to learn. He had loved more than anything to simply sit with her in her rooms, or in the gardens, and read, or simply observe the world around them, asking endless questions of her, wanting to know, wanting to understand.

There had been no violence in him, no brutality.

He had shied away from physical confrontation, though she'd known in part his reluctance had come from his own, physical frailty. He had been weak, often ill, and for that, the other children had made an easy and regular target of him, in and outside the training rings.

But it had been Loki's nature too. He had been of gentle spirit and kind disposition, happier to study history and literature and develop his innate magic than to play swords and fist fight, as Thor and all his friends had loved to do. And still Loki had been happier with his interests, even when the other children had made jest of him for it, and called him horrible names.

Often, Frigga recalls, her youngest son had asked her with genuine confusion and a horror seemingly impossible for one so young why it was the palace workers and guards had sometimes to be flogged. He hadn't understood, and such sights had often left him in tears, whereas Thor had simply and easily accepted it as a part of their lives and culture, never growing upset about it, not the way Loki would.

And so had her youngest son remained well into adulthood, kind and gentle, if not increasingly reserved and outwardly, at times, cold.

Frigga had understood why Loki had grown thus.

He had always been incredibly sensitive, easily hurt by words, wont always to take everything to heart.

He had, as he had grown and matured, learned to defend himself against the callous and thoughtless cruelty of others by shutting himself off from it, by making himself seem as if he didn't care, as if it had no affect on him whatsoever.

Frigga, of course, had also known it was naught but a mask. A way to dissuade others from attacking him in the first place, since, in very real truth, it was reaction bullies always sought, and if none was given, then their reason for bullying would cease to be.

Often it worked for her son. Sometimes it did not.

Those times, even as a young man, Frigga had more than once found Loki hiding away in some secluded corner, weeping silently for how deeply their words and actions had hurt him.

He never wanted anyone to see how much it did. Never wanted anyone to know he felt anything at all.

But her son, oh greatest ironies, felt most keenly of all.

She knows he does still. Knows that, beneath this restless, wild animal he has seemingly become, lurks the boy she had raised since infancy.

Knows too this is a mask, a role he has chosen to embody, much as once he had chosen to embody the role of the cold and heartless prince, the black prince to Thor's golden son.

No one could hurt him that way, he thinks. No one could hurt him with their awful assumptions and accusations if he became their expectations before they knew even what to expect.

Those days when he paces back and forth in his cage, eyes wide and insane, a cruel, ugly smile curling his lips as he spouts insults and disparages towards any and all his thoughts turn to, her included among them. As he makes threats and accusations, vicious and violent and full of hate.

That is not her son, Frigga thinks. That is not Loki.

Though as well the Queen knows it is not all an act.

There is something broken in Loki now. Something wrecked and wretched.

He means not most of the things he says. He is an excellent liar, but he never had been able to fool her.

But the rage is real, the hurt and betrayal.

Beyond that, there is something damaged, something destroyed in him. Something worse than whatever havoc the revelation of his true heritage had caused him, though that havoc had been terrible enough.

Frigga has longed to ask Loki what it was that became of him, when he let himself fall into the void of space.

While also she has found herself terrified of finding out.

More than a year had he been gone. More than a year had they all thought him dead.

The void should have killed him.

Sturdy and powerful as the Aesir were, and the Jotnar too, though they not be considered gods, that long a time in such a vacuum of nothingness should have been his end.

And yet, it had not been.

His magic would have sustained him, that is true. Loki was a mage of incredible power and control. He could have survived, if he had been so inclined. For a time, he could have.

But even one so powerful as her son had limits on how far he could expend his energies, how long he could maintain such an immense output. A year would have been too long.

It would have sucked him dry of his magic. His magic, which was to him as vital as breath, as vital as the blood running through his veins.

To separate it from him would be to kill him.

It was for that reason Odin had not done so, as he had with Thor. Thor, he could take his powers from. Thor's magic was not an intrinsic part of his being, as it was with Loki.

At first her husband had thought to do such a thing, but she had refused it, threatened to leave him forever should he even conceive of such a punishment for Loki, and at last Odin had yielded to her demands, instead sentencing their son to a lifetime imprisoned.

It hardly seems better to her, some days. Those days when she watches Loki in his cell, unable to rest, agitated beyond description, moving ceaselessly, fidgeting and gesturing, tearing at his own clothes, his own hair, picking up and putting down objects in immediate succession.

Other days as this one. Days when he falls into despondent repose. When he does not speak, does not move, does nothing at all but sit there and stare blankly, for hour upon hour upon hour, scarcely seeming to breathe.

Something happened to Loki out there. Something terrible.

She knows it. She knows it in her _bones_.

Yet he will not speak of it, whatever it was. He will not say. And she is so afraid to ask him.

"Loki." She starts softly, finally unable to stand another minute of this. "Please, talk to me."

If he hears her, he gives no indication of such, continuing for long minutes to sit as he is, eyes blank and dead.

Frigga can feel tears stinging sharply at the backs of her eyes, and she forces them away, refusing to give into despair.

"Loki," she says again, moving towards him now, lowering herself onto the ground before him.

Oh, how she wishes she could reach out and touch him. Give him some kind of comfort.

"My darling, please." She tries again. "Please, talk to me."

It's several minutes more where he continues to look right through her, seeming utterly unaware of her presence at all.

But then, with abruptness, his eyes sharpen and focus, and he sees her, blinking dazedly.

"... Mother." He breathes, his voice rough from disuse. She sees him swallow thickly, the action seeming painful to him. "How long have you been here?"

He's frightened, she realizes. Mortified that she's caught him in such a state. And Frigga feels her heart fracture and splinter, as she too realizes how truly he hadn't even known she was there. How truly lost he had been.

"Just a moment." She lies, and relief floods her as she sees his stiffened shoulders relax, even as she hates herself for deceiving him yet again.

It has always felt so wrong to her, as though taking some horrible advantage of Loki.

Her son has always been able to tell when he was being lied to, easily as he has ever been able to convince others of a falsehood.

But too, as he has never been able to fool her, nor has he ever been able to tell when she or Odin have been lying to him.

She had always wondered at it, at the cessation of his abilities around them.

She'd finally realized it had been born of desperation. A need, an absolute _need_ , to believe them when they told him he was loved, told him he was their son, their family. Told him he was wanted. He'd believed them because he'd had to.

And she had never wished to lie to him. Never wanted that.

Each time she did, each time she failed to reveal to him the truth about who he was, what he was, she had felt as if she had betrayed him surely as if she'd stabbed him in the heart with her own blade.

She feels it again now as she sees him relax, shoulders slumping and face bowing.

He trusts her, even still. After everything. He trusts her. Oh, her sweet, beautiful boy.

He breathes out a moment, before bringing his face back up to meet her gaze, a weak smile tugging the corners of his lips. Yet as always, the expression does not reach his eyes.

"Forgive me my rudeness," he starts. "my mind wanders these days. How fare you Mother?"

Some days, Loki calls her Mother. Days like these, when he's forgotten to hold to his stubborn and vicious anger. Those days, he calls her "My Queen".

His hands are shaking, she notices, a barely visible tremor working through them where he clasps them together in his lap.

Notices too how loosely his clothes hang on him. He's lost even more weight, she thinks, his naked wrists like a birds bones where they sit exposed.

Oh, her son...

How did he come to this? To be here? How? _How_?

"I find myself well." She answers him, fighting to keep her voice steady. "And you?"

It's an absurd question, forced from her lips by social decorum only.

He isn't doing well at all. That's plainly obvious.

Trapped here as he is. A Prince of Asgard, reduced to an unwanted and isolated prisoner of her dungeons, unthought of, unseen.

Every subject in the land now sits above him, and the realization makes Frigga's head spin with dismay.

How did this happen?

Loki says nothing for long seconds, before abruptly he pushes himself to his feet and turns from her, pacing towards the back wall of the cell, hands folded at his back.

"Well as I might be." He finally answers, his voice almost too soft to hear. "Bored." He laughs quietly. "But that, of course, is a product of my punishment."

"I've sent you some new books." Frigga supplies, though she knows it is a sorry remedy.

Loki's mind is too sharp, too quick to ever be satisfied by one thing alone.

"I read them." He tells her, still standing turned away. "... Thank you."

The Queen pushes herself to standing now, stepping nearer to him.

"Did you at least enjoy them?" She pushes, unsure of what else to say.

"Aye." He answers. "They kept me well occupied."

"Loki," Frigga draws closer to him still. "please, look at me."

She sees his shoulders stiffen a moment, his head bowing down, before, with obvious reluctance, he turns and looks at her, his expression flat and unreadable.

"You do not have to lie to me my son." She tells him softly. "You fare badly."

He regards her for long seconds, face unchanging, before he huffs a near soundless laugh, smiling vaguely.

"I am well Mother." He says. "You needn't burden yourself with concern."

"You aren't eating. You're so thin Loki." She replies, her throat tight with repressed tears, eyes burning.

Oh, why won't he talk to her? Why won't he tell her what's happened, what's wrong?

"I have always been thus." He answers fast. "Have I not? Have I not always been of frail constitution and waifish build?"

"Loki, please..." She tries, seeing him falling towards his defenses now, his angry, argumentative harshness of words and tone.

He blinks, and all at once, the tension drains out of him, and he looks away, his hands fidgeting with one another, as they always have when he feels nervous, or unwell, or afraid.

"... I've had little apatite of late." He says at last. "I am sorry Mother. I will try to do better. For you."

"I wish you to do better for yourself Loki." She says, and a sharp scoff escapes him, before his expression tightens, his hands ceasing in their movement, clasping tightly together.

"... There seems little point." He starts.

"How can you say that?" She asks, horrified. "Loki, how can..."

"And how can you say otherwise?" He turns sharply towards her, his eyes vibrating, not with anger, but with pain, so thick, it is all Frigga can do not to turn away. For a moment, his face crumples, his brow lining heavy with grief, his lips wobbling dangerously, before like a wave, he clamps down on the emotion, and his features once more grow impassive.

He shakes his head.

"I am ruined Mother." He says, voice distant and quiet. "You push hope on me because you are kind. Always have you been kind to me. But you only prolong your own suffering. You should let me go. Forget me, as Thor and Odin have both. It is for the best."

Frigga can no longer hold back her own emotion then, hearing him speak so. The tears she'd been forcing back spring and well thick in her eyes, slipping unbidden down her cheeks.

"You cannot say such things to me." She says. "Loki, my son, you _cannot_."

His face fills with anguish then, and she can see it is for her. Not for himself. For _her_.

"Then you would have me pretend?" He asks, voice thick. "You would have me harbor dreams of some day being freed from here? Of being restored to my former position of Prince? Restored as a son of Odin, brother of Thor? Mother, even if..." he shakes his head. "even if such a thing were possible, do you believe the people of Asgard would ever accept me as such again? They know now what I am. They know I am a frost giant. A wretched beast, better put down and out of its misery than allowed to go on living."

"Loki, stop. Stop this!" She pleads. But he keeps on.

"They would kill me. You know? If ever I was let loose from here, they would kill me. My former subjects. Bad enough in their eyes I am a traitor. But a frost giant, set loose in their midst's. A coockoo, sitting deadly and toxic within the heart of the royal family. They would not let it stand Mother. You know that well as I. It matters naught my... my intentions. Matters naught I never meant... I never d-did..."

He cuts off, turning from her, and she sees him wipe viciously at his eyes, his breath ragged and heavy.

"Never did what Loki?" Frigga pushes, swallowing down her sobs, because, deep down, she knows he's right. He's _right_.

She hears the talk among the courtiers, among her people. Hears how disdainfully they speak of her son. How they call him traitor and monster and beast.

"You never did what?" She asks again when he does not answer.

For long seconds more, he doesn't reply, until she again sees him shake his head.

"Nothing." He tells her. "It matters not."

And she cannot take it any longer. Can no longer hold her tongue.

"Loki, _tell_ me." She insists. "Tell me what... what happened to you? What became of you in the void? You did not act of your own will. I know you. Your actions, what you did... that wasn't..."

She's cut short by his abrupt and harsh laughter as he turns to look at her again, and she sees his eyes are wet with tears.

"You know me so well Mother." He says, and his voice is suddenly mocking, cruel. "And yet you could not see how wholly I suffered, for _centuries_ I suffered, never knowing why... _why_ I could not find my place, why I felt so apart, so alone. You knew, and yet you did nothing, you and Odin, you did _nothing_. You let me believe a _lie_. You let me believe I actually _belonged_ here, _made_ me believe that, even as I felt in my deepest heart I did not. But you will speak of knowing me? Speak with authority, as if you could know of what I am capable? When I am not even of your blood? Not even of your _kind_?!"

Frigga's tears flow freely now, blindingly thick in her eyes.

"I know." She cries. "Loki, I know. And I am sorry. Please, you must understand. We thought only to protect you..."

"Oh," he laughs. "yes. And a very _fine_ job you did of that. _Protecting_ me." He laughs again, the sound tinged with a madness Frigga cannot understand. "You know nothing, my Queen. Nothing of what... what I have seen. Wh-where I have been. I cannot..." he pauses, once more turning away, and he covers his eyes with his hand. "It is too late." He says, voice weak and resigned then. "It is too late. I tell you now, nothing I say will anymore matter."

"My son, _please_ ," Frigga begs, clasping her hands together, desperation and hope warring inside her. "you know not what you say! Tell me now what it is, and you may yet be free from here! If ever you had an audience to hear you, _I_ would hear you!"

And Loki smiles at her then, so full of awful regret and sadness, the Queen can feel her breath catch in her throat, her heart lurch.

"I know you would." He says quietly. "But your belief would mean little towards the purpose of my freedom."

"Loki, I..." she tries, but he talks over her.

"Odin will never believe a word I say. And it is the All-Father who holds me here. Who's word determines my fate. Mother..." he stops, his face lined in sudden agony. "I would only hurt you more greatly if I told you the truth. And to what end? Only your suffering." He shakes his head. "I cannot do that. I can hurt you no more."

Frigga feels dizzy, sick with despair and horror.

Something happened, something _forced_ Loki into his actions. She's known it since the beginning. But he won't _tell_ her, he won't _let_ her help him. Oh Norns, what is she to do then?

"My son, please," she entreats once more. "do not do this. You _must_ tell me. You must let me _help_ you. If there is any chance, any way I might restore you..."

But he only shakes his head again, turning away.

"You are kind." He says, his arms coming up and wrapping about himself. And he looks so much like a child then. So much like the little boy she raised. "But I am a ruin. Everything I touch turns to ash. Please Mother... for your own sake, and mine... leave me. Forget me."

"Loki, no." Frigga moves towards him. " _No_!"

"I was meant to die." He goes on, as if he hasn't even heard her. "Odin tells me. Then I am a lesson, a tale of caution. What will happen when you take from the clutches of Hel one of her own. The All-Father should have left me there on that frozen rock. Should have let me freeze and perish. See what consequences his actions have then wrought? See what misery in defying the Norns?"

Frigga feels her heart stutter and crash, horrifying dread and anger clutching her insides as her son's words become clear to her.

Odin didn't... he would not...

Would not say such things... would not say them to Loki... to their son...

He could not...

"Loki," she cries, unable to bear it. "Do you not know how much I love you?"

Long seconds pass, seeming to stretch to eternity, Frigga's heart beating painfully within her chest.

"... I know." Loki finally answers, voice near soundless.

"Then _why_?!" She presses, not understanding. "Why do you push me away like this?"

"Because you love a MONSTER!" His voice suddenly cracks and booms as he whirls on her, and she feels the force of his magic as it rushes out from him, the strength of it tangible even against her own projection.

And as quickly as his fury came, it melts away to nothing, his face then crumpling, and he reaches out, quick as lightening, slashing his hand through her image.

Her consciousness comes spilling back into her own body, and as she opens her eyes, she no longer stands in Loki's prison, but instead looks down on an image of him, his face buried in his hands, body bent double as he sinks to his knees.

She turns, unable to stand the sight.

Unable to look and see how truly she has failed to save her son.

/

 **AN: Another angst ridden one-shot. Because I am incapable of writing fluff.**


End file.
